Cloten. Leave us to ourselves. [Exeunt LORDS, &c. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,

Let her lie still, and dream.-By your leave, ho!

Knocks.

I know her women are about her; What,
If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up

Their deer to the stand of the stealer: and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;
Nay, some time, hangs both thief and true man :-

What

Can it not do and undo? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me; for
I yet not understand the case myself.
By your leave.

Enter HELEN.

Helen. Who's there, that knocks?

Cloten. A gentleman.

Helen. No more?

Cloten. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Helen. That's more

[Knocks.

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
Can justly boast of: what's your lordship's pleasure?
Cloten. Your lady's person: Is she ready?
Helen. Ay, to keep her chamber.

Cloten. There's gold for you; sell me your good report.

Helen. How? my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good? The princess

Enter IMOGEN.

Cloten. Good morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet

hand.

[Exit HELEN.

Imog. Good-morrow, sir: You lay out too much

pains

For purchasing but trouble.

If

Cloten. Still, I swear, I love you.

Imog. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: you swear still, your recompense is still That I regard it not.

Cloten. This is no answer.

Imog. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,

I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy

To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Cloten. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin; I will not.

Imog. Fools cure not mad folks.

Cloten. Do you call me fool?
Imog. As I am mad, I do :

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners;

But I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you.

Cloten. The contract you pretend with that base wretch

(One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes, With scraps o' the court,) it is no contract, none. Imog. Profane fellow !

Wert thout the son of Jupiter, and no more,
But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom.

Cloten. The south fog rot him!

Imog. He never can meet more mischance, than

come

To be but named of thee. His meanest garment
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer,

In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men.

Cloten. How now?

Imog. Pisanio!

[Misses her Bracelet.

Cloten. His garment? Now, the devil

Enter PISANIO.

Imog. To Helen, my woman, hie thee presentlyCloten. His garment?

Imog. I am sprited with a fool;

Frighted, and anger'd worse :-Go, bid my woman Search for a jewel, that, too casually,

Hath left mine arm; it was thy master's: 'shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue

Of any king's in Europe. I do think,

I saw't this morning: confident I am,

Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it then.

Pisanio. 'Twill not be lost.

Imog. I hope so: go, and search.

Cloten. You have abused me :

[Exit.

His meanest garment?

I will inform your father.

Imog. Your mother too:

She's my good lady: and will conceive, I hope,

But the worst of me.

So I leave you, sir,

To the worst of discontent.
Cloten. I'll be revenged ;—

His meanest garment?.

Well.

[Exit.

[Exit.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

Rome.

An Apartment in PHILARIO's House.

Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO.

Post. Fear it not, sir: I would, I were so sure
To win the king, as I am bold, her honour
Will remain hers.

Phil. What means do you make to him?

Post. Not any; but abide the change of time;
Quake in the present winter's state, and wish
That warmer days would come: In these fear'd
hopes,

I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.

Phil. Your very goodness, and your company,
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius
Will do his commission throughly: and, I think,
He'll grant the tribute; or your countrymen
Will look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.

Post. I do believe

(Statist though I am none, nor like to be) That this will prove a war; and you shall hear The legions now in Gallia, sooner landed

D

In our not fearing Britain, than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more ordered, than when Julius Cæsar
Smiled at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at: Their discipline,

Now mingled with their courages, will make known
To their approvers, they are a people, such
That mend upon the world: and more than that,
They have a king, whose love and justice to them
May ask, and have, their treasures, and their blood.
Phil. See! Iachimo!

Enter IACHIMO.

Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land; And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, To make your vessel nimble.

Phil. Welcome, sir!

Post. I hope, the briefness of

The speediness of your return.

Iach. Your lady

your answer made

Is one, the fairest that I have look'd upon.

Post. And, therewithal, the best; or let her beauty Look through a casement, to allure false hearts,

And be false with them.

Iach. Here are letters for you.

Post. Their tenour good, I trust.

Iach. 'Tis very like.

[POSTHUMUS reads the Letter.

Phil. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court

When you were there?

Iach. He was, my lord :—but I

Left ere I saw him.

Post. All is well yet.

Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not
Too dull for your good wearing?

Iach. If I have lost it,

I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy